Endgame
by blueskiesahead
Summary: The splinter cell is real. There's no end in sight, and Global Command is facing pressure from all sides. Rachel certainly wishes that life was simpler.
1. In Which We Meet Our Heroes

**AN: This is an AU, what-if-the-splinter-cell-was-real fics picking up after the events of Operation G.I.R.L.F.R.I.E.N.D. Of course, I probably shamelessly butcher characters and events, but ah well. Enjoy, I suppose. Like most people on this site, I don't own any rights to the show.**

* * *

Images flashed across the screen. A giant tree, fit with 2x4 technology, lying across Times Square, cars crushed underneath. Graffiti on the US Capitol, claiming that "they" were coming for you. Analysts and experts puzzling over this behavior and the implications that a new terrorist group could have on America and the world. Adults talking about how they double-locked their doors at night. Child scientists discussing how the use of KND technology shows that the splinter cell is directly linked to the organization. Sector leaders marvelling at a lack of clues pointing to any one suspect.

"What you have just seen are acts attributed to the KND splinter cell," Numbuh 10 intoned. "Opposed to all adults and determined to steer the Kids Next Door towards that road. We have yet to hear from Numbuh 362 herself, but Numbuh 411 of the KND Public Relations branch assured us in a press conference earlier today that our leader is doing everything within her power to combat this threat."

"And now, a word from Numbuh 40 at the weather desk," Numbuh 11.0 said cheerfully, ruining the somber mood. "Numbuh 40?"

* * *

"What do you mean, 'REQUEST DENIED'!" Rachel shouted, sweeping a pile of papers of her desk in one defiant gesture to whichever bureaucrat had turned down her application to get Numbuhs 41 and 43 on the search for members of the splinter cell.

"I don't know, maybe that yeh can't get them on the case?" Numbuh 86 bit back sarcastically. "Look, sir, I don't understand why our crime-solving branch would override your orders, but apparently those two already have a case."

"What could possibly be more important than finding the splinter cell? You know, that thing that's been terrorizing and taunting us for months now?" Rachel got up from her desk and circled around to the window, stopping to gaze appreciatively at the view with her hands clasped behind her back. She missed the days when she was Chad's assistant and there was no splinter cell- everything was frustrating, but at least it was simple.

"If yeh would let me on the case, sir, I would find those cruddy traitors and beat them to a pulp," Numbuh 86 grumbled. Rachel wished she could let her friend on the case. Numbuh 86 was widely feared among all participants in the war between kids, adults, and teens, and had proven that she could get results from two long years as Head of the Decommissioning Squad, an elite unit charged with hunting down teenagers and rogue operatives and erasing their memories of the KND. However, she had a sneaking suspicion that Numbuh 86 was out for revenge rather than just to stop the splinter cell. A few days prior, Numbuh 60, head of the Arctic base and a good friend to both Rachel and Numbuh 86, had gone missing. Though he vanished without a trace and no ransom note had appeared, it was obviously the work of the splinter cell.

"Fanny, could you get me Numbuh 1 on the line, please?" Rachel asked, bringing one hand from behind her back to pinch the bridge of her nose. Sometimes it was better just to ignore what Numbuh 86 said under her breath. "It's been a long day and I'd like to call it a night as soon as I can. I promised him I'd check in before heading home."

Almost all Moonbase personnel had been pulling all-nighters since the splinter cell had emerged less than a year ago. Rest and relaxation was almost as prized as Yipper cards and Rainbow Monkeys, and some operatives (Rachel included) didn't leave Moonbase until the weekends. Some operatives (such as Numbuh 35, head of communications) hadn't been home in over a month.

Fanny gave her friend a solemn look. "I'm gonna give you some advice, Rachel." This was serious, Rachel concluded, since Fanny only dropped formalities when things got desperate. "Don't get too attached to him. If he goes missin' one day..." Numbuh 86 shrugged.

"Just because Patton left doesn't mean that-,"

"Stupid boy never left in the first place," Fanny grumbled walking out to go wake Numbuh 35 and get him to hook the switchboard up for the call. Rachel sighed as the door swung shut behind Fanny. A wave of exhaustion rolled over her, and she felt older than she had in her entire life (eleven years is a short time, but playing adult to thousands of children wears a person down quickly). The splinter cell. Rachel selfishly wished that it had come after she was decommissioned, that the imminent threat of the disintegration of the KND was someone else's problem.

The screen in front of her desk buzzed to life in a whirr of static and beeps as the satellite connected her screen with a screen thousands of miles away in the suburbs of Virginia. Rachel took her place in her desk chair, crossing her hands in as professional a manner as she could achieve and donning her serious "face of leadership" in preparation for the eventual uplink with the Sector V computer.

A face soon materialized onscreen, with eyes covered by black tinted sunglasses and a neck covered by a turtleneck sweater. The operative snapped to attention, giving a sharp salute to Rachel.

"Numbuh 362, sir," he acknowledged, British accent spitting out the words with precision.

"At ease, Numbuh 1," Rachel said more out of habit than anything else. "Any new leads in the Capitol case?"

Numbuh 1 adopted what Rachel presumed was a calculating expression (it always was hard to tell with those glasses). "I'm afraid not, Rachel. The letters were stencilled on instead of handwritten, and it's obvious that the video feeds on the security cameras were compromised for a three-day time frame, making it almost impossible for my team to properly gather evidence or weasel out a list of suspects. How are things on your side, Rachel? I saw a particularly unflattering editorial regarding your role in the search for Patton in the school newspaper this morning, as well as how Rainbow Munchies haven't been as munchy since you became Supreme Leader."

"That stuff is making local school newspapers now?" Rachel asked, concerned. "Nigel, this is bad. Next thing we know, adults will see that stuff, make connections. We know they're not completely oblivious to what's going this time, but adult interference will only make things worse."

"I know," Nigel sighed. He removed his glasses, and Rachel was able to see that his eyes ("_such a lovely blue_," her inner girly-girl whispered) were full of the same care-worn weariness as hers were. "Numbuh 10 told me that there are rumors in the adult journalism community that the government might attempt to intervene."

"Where's her source, Nigel? You know as well as I do that information from anyone without zip-your-lips clearance can't be trusted."

"Her mother is a journalist for an adult news program. She's met people who have been briefed on the situation and seem to imply as much."

"How did she-," Rachel started.

"Well, it took a lot of work on Numbuh 2's part, but we were able to fabricate a robot version of Numbuh 10's mother, which she then operated in order to extract the information. A little unorthodox," Nigel grinned a little at this, "but I think the overall results were worth it."

Rachel smiled and shook her head, "I wouldn't expect anything less than unorthodox from you, soldier. How's that girlfriend of yours holding up with all of this? I'd guess she's ready to murder you with the lack of breaks operatives have been getting in the past few weeks."

"We broke up," he said dryly, replacing his sunglasses and adopting a terse frown. "But anyways, Numbuh 362, have you had any other good leads? It's getting late and my mom only lets me sleep in the tree house if I'm in bed by 10:30."

"Negative, Numbuh 1," Rachel sighed. "Get some rest, soldier. Over and out." The words "End Transmission" blinked across the screen a few times before it ultimately went blank. Rachel collapsed headfirst onto her desk, uncrossing and shifting her arms to effectively bury her face in her sweatshirt sleeves. Every time, every-cruddy-time she talked to Numbuh 1, she screwed up.

She was so busy thinking about how things couldn't have gone worse that she didn't notice Fanny re-enter her office.

"It's like I said, Rachel," Fanny said sadly, patting her friend on the back, "Gettin' attached only spells trouble."

* * *

"Numbuh 4?" Numbuh 5 asked, using her signature tone of scepticism.

"Yeah, Numbuh 5?"

"'Trouble' is not spelled 'g-e-t-t-i-n-g-a-t-t-a-c-h-e-d. Just thought you might want to know."

"Aw, crud. I spent eleventy bajillion hours on that homework!"

The various operatives of Sector V, Numbuh 1 excluded, lounged around on various sofas and beanbag chairs that comprised the main sitting area and communal living room. Numbuhs 4 and 5 sat in two adjacent armchairs, both well-worn and obviously scavenged from either a local junkyard or an antique shop. Numbuh 3 lay spread-eagle on a large square of shag carpeting, playing with her Rainbow Monkeys. Numbuh 2 sat about ten feet away from the others, hunched over the monitor of an out-dated looking computer, with his eyes racing to keep up with the mountains of raw computer code that danced across the screen.

"Numbuh 2, what are you doing?" Numbuh 5 demanded, raising one eyebrow as she got up from her chair and headed over to the computer desk.

"Checking our code for any spyware and making sure that none of the files have been tampered with. Moonbase sent a bulletin to all 2x4 specialists warning us to keep our computers safe, or manually file away designs and mission specs." Numbuh 2 was absorbed in his task, eyes barely blinking to register Numbuh 5's presence at the desk.

"Numbuh 5 thinks that we should all be gettin' to bed. Gonna be a long day tomorrow." Abby shot a pointed look at Numbuh 4 in particular.

"Wot? I've got so much more homework to do!" Wally complained. He crossed his arms defiantly. "Besides, Numbuh 1 gets to stay up!"

"That's a-cause Numbuh 1 is checking in with Numbuh 362. He'll be done in a minute, anyways," Numbuh 5 attempted to calm Wally down. Of course, Numbuh 3 just had to go and undo the effects of any soothing by opening her big mouth.

"Yeah, Wally. Nigel needs to check in with his new girlfriend to make sure she doesn't break up with him like Lizzie did!"

Of course, Numbuh 1 chose to walk in the main sitting room at this very moment. Abby noticed his eyebrows get into that weird scrunchy position they achieved only when Numbuh 1 was incredibly irritated (usually with a member of his team) but was trying desperately to hide it. She could almost hear him internally counting to ten to calm himself down.

"Numbuh 5 has a point, team," Numbuh 1 said evenly, and Abby sighed. Last thing their sector needed at that moment was a fight. "We should all be getting to bed. Numbuh 2!" The tech specialist looked up from his computer screen. "Computer security check can wait until morning. Numbuh 35 hinted that some high-ranking officers may be stopping by to see if any damage control can be done to smooth out the situation involving the Capitol building. I want everyone to be well-rested and alert when they arrive. We don't want Global Command to think we've gone soft."

Slowly, and with much complaint on the part of Numbuh 4, Numbuhs 2, 3, and 4 filed off to their respective rooms to get the sleep their leader had ordered. Numbuh 5 hung back, however, to give Numbuh 1 one last bit of food for thought.

"You did good handling Wally, boss," Abby said, and her tinge of sarcasm and elbow nudge convinced her uptight friend that now it was okay to joke. "Although seriously? Keep callin' Numbuh 362 and Numbuh 5'll be bettin' a week's worth of allowance on the two of you getting' together."

Nigel Uno opened his mouth to protest the charges, but Abby just gave him a small smirk and a wave before heading off to her part of the tree house. Numbuh 1 was left alone with his thoughts.

* * *

There is nothing in the world that Nigel loved more than a lazy Sunday morning. The birds were chirping, the sun was bright and, according to the list of missed calls on his communicator , Numbuhs 86 and 362 were hurtling towards Earth at that very minute. Now, some would say that Nigel could get just the teensiest bit wound up at times. These people would be proficient at understating obvious truths. At that given moment, Nigel was wound tighter than the spring mechanism of a watch that had been placed in the hands of a hyperactive kindergartener.

"Wake up, guys! C'mon, pretty please with pancakes and syrup on top?" Nigel spoke in to a microphone which was connected to an intercom system that ran throughout the tree house. When no operatives stirred from their sleep, he shouted in to the device. "WAKE UP! WAKE UP, YOU GUYS! Numbuh 86 is on her way right this minute and will personally murder you all in your sleep if she finds you like this!"

That certainly got everyone's attention. Death by Numbuh 86 sounded like horrible way to go. Numbuh 4 jumped a full three feet in the air, though he wouldn't admit that to anyone.

By the time Numbuh 86 and Numbuh 362 actually showed up a few minutes later, all members of Sector V were standing at attention in the hangar. Numbuh 362 smiled shyly at the assembled sector (and part of Nigel wished that smile was only for him), while Numbuh 86 stomped down the gangplank and came to a stop two paces behind her leader.

"Well, everyone," Rachel started awkwardly, "about that graffiti-,"

Of course, the Kids Next Door Help Me Hotline chose to go off at that moment.

All of the operatives raced over to the screen, where the flashing letters warned of an incoming transmission. The screen flickered to life in a wave of static and fuzz, and when an image finally formed, none of the operatives could believe what they saw. On the screen was a man of about forty dressed in a little sailor suit, muscular and hairy arms poking awkwardly out of the sleeves. When the man spoke, he used a pathetic attempt at a falsetto.

"Help me, Kids Next Door!" the man squeaked, "I have a problem!"

"The KND only helps children, you idiot!" Fanny screeched, pushing her way to the front. "If you think we're buying that stupid disguise, then yeh're just asking for me to come and kick your butt halfway to Mars!"

The man's face fell. "I told you they wouldn't buy it, Ryerson," he hissed. Regaining his composure (however much can be regained when you are a forty year old man wearing a sailor suit made for children), the man began to speak in a voice reminiscent of Numbuh 60's: sharp, commanding, and militaristic. "Various members of the FBI have been attempting to contact the Kids Next Door for weeks. We wish to inform you that the federal government feels that the issues regarding this so-called 'child terrorist cell' are too large to be under the sole jurisdiction of children. We wish to arrange a meeting with the leaders of your organization to formally acknowledge our handling of the case and to issue a subpoena demanding all files related to this group."

Numbuh 1 decided he would do the talking in this situation, since Fanny looked like she was about to say some things that would get her on the FBI's Most Wanted list. "Numbuh 362, sir, with all due respect. Permission to speak?" Rachel gave a nod of assent. Nigel started in to his response. "I'll put you in contact with Numbuh Infinity, who is our chief diplomat. However, I cannot assure you of a meeting. You would have been better off to spend another week attempting to contact Global Command rather than us, since we are technically incapable of dealing with matters as delicate as this."

Nigel did not think it would be prudent to mention where Moonbase was or that the Supreme Leader was actually present while the conversation was occurring. He figured if the adults were so desperate to contact the Kids Next Door that they would dress up in ridiculous sailor suits and use moronic falsettos that they would be willing to wait a little longer for a formal meeting.

"Why'd you do that, yeh stupid boy?" Fanny screeched after the screen went blank. Nigel explained his reasoning, and only the Supreme Leader's acceptance of the idea calmed Numbuh 86 down.

"Besides," Rachel said with a smirk, "they can't use their power of subpoena if all our files happen to be on the Moon. Numbuh 2, I want you to fly to various bases and inform all technical officers that they should start removing files from computers and make sure that all mission reports and weapon specs are backed up on Moonbase. Numbuh 86, go back to Moonbase and inform Numbuh 35 that he needs to re-scramble our communication lines. We don't want any adults compromising our systems."

Fanny could understand where Rachel was coming from. Yes, the United States government is kind of a big deal, and they weren't necessarily evil adults. However, Numbuh 1 (irritating, infernal boy that he was) had a point. The government was desperate to stop the splinter cell, and they were even farther behind than the KND was in catching the culprits.

"And anyways, wouldn't getting the FBI involved just make the splinter cell angrier? I mean, the whole point is to destroy adults, and if Global Command can't handle its own problems, then more kids might be driven to the cause," Numbuh 2 said, looking up from where he had been going over various flight routes with Numbuh 4.

"And besides, those cruddy adults couldn't even tell that they didn't even land on the cruddy moon!" Numbuh 4 added, and at that everyone chuckled or wiped an imaginary tear of mirth from their eye at the ingenuity of kids and the stupidity of adults.

"So it's settled, then," said Numbuh 1 with an air of finality about him. Rachel and Fanny made to leave, and Numbuh 1 volunteered to lead them back to the hangar. Fanny felt a twinge of fury at Numbuh 1 as he and Rachel discussed things quietly, heads bent together as if co-conspiracy was second nature to them.

As the ship slowly made its way back to the moon and their respective mountains of paperwork, Rachel turned to her friend and said, almost absent-mindedly, "I'm going to talk to Infinity about this. It's his job to organize this sort of thing anyways. I'm thinking maybe you, me, Patton, if we can find him, and Numbuh 1 could make up the diplomatic party. You okay with that?"

Fanny gave pause at that. Rachel, she realized, had listed the four people she trusted enough to know that they weren't from the splinter cell. She had two options: one was to protest and demean Numbuh 1 and exasperate Rachel even more, and the other was to nod.

Fanny chose option two.

* * *

Sector C-W (Canada West) was usually a pretty quiet sector. Other than the occasional rescue of a kid who was about to die of boredom on a nature hike, there wasn't much to do. That day, however, was different. On that particular day, Patton Drilovsky, head of the Arctic base and MIA for two weeks, appeared in the Peace Arch Provincial Park.

He claimed to have seen the splinter cell.

**

* * *

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AN: They never mention Canadian sectors. This irritates me, as I could not find a good sector name. Whatever. Thank-you's and references! Lots of love goes out to CodeLyokoIsTheBest, who beta-read this for me (check out her stories, they're super-awesome), and the KND Code Module, which once again proved an invaluable resource.


	2. In Which There is a Flashback

**AN: Gutentag! So I'm on vacation and figured I might as well update this. Does this chapter actually advance the plot? Somewhat. Maybe. Who knows? I did enjoy writing it, however.**

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* * *

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____

Six Months Prior

Andrew McClintock lived a fairly average life for an agent of the FBI, and looked every bit the part. He would get up, give his chin a quick shave and brush back his mousy brown hair before he got his coffee, went to the office, and worked his desk job from nine to five. It was just after he arrived at the office one day that he first heard of the Kids Next Door. An overstuffed, aged manila folder had been slammed down on his desk by his superior, who gave a little smirk as he did.

"Get a load of this, McClintock," the boss had said. "Bunch of kids who run around fighting adult 'tyranny'. We've linked them to about 20,000 counts of illegal soda smuggling and about 50 counts of property damage and harassment alone."

"So you want me to fill out the paperwork for a search warrant or something?" Andrew asked. He was a little confused as to why the government would be interested in arresting a bunch of kids.

"Of course not!" his boss burst out laughing. "We've got no concrete evidence! Those kids are able to weasel out of any sort of trouble. Anything that we could use to pin them is purely circumstantial!"

"What do you want me to do, then?" Andrew flipped through the file absentmindedly. Blurred pictures of giant tree houses, condiment weapons, and kids in colander helmets were clipped to memos and reports about quasai-militant groups of both adults and children. Whispers of memories surfaced at these images, but were promptly crushed when his boss spoke again.

"Just write a report about the latest problem these kids have caused. Some flying convention center of theirs crashed and caused some damages in Missouri."

"If we can directly link the event to them, then why don't we just bring charges against the organization?" McClintock had a strong sense of justice, and didn't like to think that some kids could break the law and get away with it. Andrew had been a law student enlisted in the ROTC, but had been pulled for FBI training after proving to be capable both physically and mentally.

"These 'Children Next Door'-,"

"Kids Next Door," Andrew interjected. His boss shot him a dirty look, under which he withered. He just couldn't help it. A part of him had seemingly resurfaced and told him to be indignant about his boss getting the name of some crazy kids' club wrong.

"Kids Next Door, whatever. These kids cut a deal with the United Nations back in the '40's (something about saving kids in concentration camps) and gained diplomatic immunity. Not even UN peacekeepers or Interpol can touch them," the boss said, furrowing his brow. "Those morons struck a deal with a bunch of unruly children and their diplomatic immunity status doesn't come up for renewal for another forty years."

The boss had walked away after that, so Andrew resigned himself to filing away the reports after he finished writing up the property damage. He liked the feeling he got from thinking about kids running around keeping other kids safe. Of course, they were law breakers and, according to these files, full of rogue operatives who would occasionally escape something they called "decommissioning". It was through these kids- teenagers, actually; he noted this casually as he looked at their interview files- that the FBI was able to garner any information whatsoever about the Kids Next Door. That was something that McClintock had to admire: the Kids Next Door held their secrets tighter than any other intelligence agency.

* * *

Miles and miles away, another person sat at a desk doing paperwork. However, this person was Nigel Uno, and since labor laws prevented him from holding a nine-to-five desk job, he was sitting in a desk at school, fiddling with the mechanism on his mechanical pencil. Ms. Thompson was on another rambling speech about how ninjas did not sign the Declaration of Independence but that they did fight in the War of 1812 (Nigel does not know to this day why they let her teach), and boredom was the general mood of the room. Wally had fallen asleep long ago, and Abby had ceased in her efforts to wake him up again. Nigel had let out a groan of despair at this; only when Abby gave up her efforts to keep Numbuh 4 from failing the fourth grade was the lecture at its maximum boredom capacity.

Of course, maximum boredom capacity is often achieved only when the class is about to end; the bell rang shortly after Ms. Thompson began describing Napoleon's involvement in the attack on Washington. Kids streamed out the door in twos and threes, chattering about the latest Rainbow Monkeys movie or some Yipper game or another. Nigel hung back to let Wally and Abby catch up to him, but took pause when he noticed Hoagie.

"Numbuh 2, what, exactly, are you doing?" Nigel said, pushing his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to give one exasperated and indignant look at his friend over the rims of the lenses. Numbuh 2 had a cowboy hat propped on top of his pilot's cap and goggles, and was pulling a hobby-horse with rocket propulsion units attached to it.

"Well, Numbuh 1-," Hoagie began in a pseudo Texan accent.

"And would you cut with the accent? Numbuh 5 is thinking that maybe you're just a little crazy," Abby said, adding her own look of skepticism on top of the critical gaze of Nigel.

"Aw, c'mon! I was just doing my shift of the KND message duty!" Hoagie complained. "You won't believe what happened today! I was delivering this message to Muffy Jenkins, see, and then the Six Gum Gang showed up, and there were these kindergarteners and I forgot the message but delivered it in the end!" Hoagie said in one breath. Nigel just let out a snort.

"Ugh. Numbuh 2, let's just get to lunch and forget about that. Besides, it's meatball sandwich day!" The prospect of meatball sandwiches never failed to cheer up the leader of Sector V. Call it his one true weakness, but everyone has one.

"Oh, no, Nigie! You're not eating one of those fattening calorie sandwiches on my watch!" Lizzie Devine, Nigel's long-suffering (her words, not his) girlfriend, walked up to the group of Sector V operatives.

"Hi, Lizzie," Wally and Hoagie groaned. Their hatred of Nigel's girlfriend had never been a secret, though Lizzie ignored their latest protests of her presence in their circle of friends.

"We're getting lunch together today, Nigie. No work, no missions, nothing but you and me," she said, using the poisonous, syrupy voice she used when she wanted to get Nigel to do what she wanted and imply bodily harm to him if he didn't.

"But-," Nigel tried to protest, but all protests were abruptly cut off by his girlfriend.

Lizzie grabbed Nigel by the ear and proceeded to drag him to the lunchroom behind her. As he was being dragged away, he saw Kuki walk up to their other friends and comment idly that Lizzie had very nice hair.

Lizzie's vice-like grip on his ear forced his eyes to be forced down on the ground. Various gum wrappers and paper clips littered the floor, but one piece of school-debris in particular caught his attention. A piece of paper sat nondescriptly crumpled on the floor, but Nigel could just make out the post-mark of the KND Message Delivery Service. The story Numbuh 2 had breathlessly told him earlier came back to him. Nigel came to the conclusion that the message had been freshly crumpled and delivered. A recent disagreement between the United Student Councils, a global alliance of student councils for all grades, and the Kids Next Door had led to the fourth grade student council keeping various aspects of council workings (meetings with the principal, for example) a secret.

Muffy Jenkins, though not officially an elected representative of the fourth grade class, was a trusted advisor of the President. Nigel knew this could be his one chance to see what the fourth grade class government and the school administration were up to. He bent down as inconspicuously as he could and picked up the note. Opening it, he saw only five words, hastily scribbled: "The splinter cell is real."

"NIGIE!" Lizzie screeched. "What do you have there?"

"It's nothing, Lizzie," he responded absent-mindedly, though it was more of an automatic response than anything he actually meant. Nigel's brain kicked in to overdrive, attempting to process the different meanings that "splinter cell" could hold. Was it a code? Was it a division of the student council, gone rogue?

"Nigie?" Lizzie softened slightly. Nigel had that look on his face, the one that said a dangerous mission was about to begin and that their date after school was probably going to be forgotten.

"It's nothing, Lizzie," said Nigel decisively, pocketing the note for further inspection. "Nothing at all."

Nigel missed their date that night.

* * *

Muffy Jenkins, secretary and registrar of the esteemed student government for Gallagher Elementary, was well aware of the fact that Eggbert Eggelston was a very weird kid. She worked as the record-keeper and clerk for all student council meetings, and had yet to accustom herself to the peculiar work habits of the fourth grade's newest president. However, when she received his note earlier that day, she had known exactly what he meant by it.

Biff Jenkins, her older brother, worked as a clerk for the United Student Council offices in Washington, D.C., and was well versed on the true reasons why the Kids Next Door and the USC had had a falling out. The root reason was the splinter cell, though the Kids Next Door were not yet aware of its existence. Student councils, by nature, are an adult-sanctioned group: take adults out of the equation and a student council has no power whatsoever. The splinter cell sought the destruction of all adults, which would invariably lead to the disintegration of the USC's power, and then total anarchy.

There were two things that Muffy loved the most in life. One was her work as a clerk of the student council, and another was order. Most members of the USC felt the same way, apparently, because the split with the Kids Next Door was at the time viewed as an excellent idea.

Though Muffy was not yet aware of it, she was to become one of the first victims of the insurgent movement brought about by the very group she strove to distance herself and her precious student council from.

* * *

It was a run-of-the-mill night at the tree house. The operatives of Sector V lounged around doing homework in the main room, while Numbuh 1 holed himself up in his room, pouring over mission files and operative reports in a desperate search for what "splinter cell" could mean. Numbuh 2 just shook his head at that. Numbuh 1 took his job so seriously, but it was getting to a point where they might need to send him to Sector J for an early vacation. The thought of mango smoothies and fun at the beach led Numbuh 2 to believe that maybe the entire sector deserved a vacation, and maybe they could make a pit stop at Sector F in Paris, and then a quick visit to Sector L in Los Angeles…

All thoughts of vacation had to be put on hold, however, as the screen sprang to life with an urgent call from Moonbase. "Sector V!" Numbuh 35 barked, "Come in Sector V!"

"He-ey, Bartie! Here to schedule another game of Yipper, perchance?" Hoagie asked pushing himself off of the floor and walking over to the screen with Numbuhs 3, 4, and 5 close behind him. A frantic Numbuh 1 burst in through the door to the main room and raced up beside Hoagie.

"Not now, Numbuh 2. This is a business call," the communications officer said gruffly. "There's been a report of a violent shakedown of a student council rep in your area. We don't have exact details and we don't know what condition the victim is in, but Global Command wants you guys to check it out. Relations with United Student Council are strained enough."

"Rodger that, Numbuh 35," Hoagie said, using his best smooth-talking detective voice. The communication was terminated, and Numbuh 2 was left with his thoughts. Placing his detective hat over his pilot cap, Hoagie began to think. "Shakedown, huh? Nothing I hadn't seen before. It was only a matter of time before I could see the victim and get to the bottom of this. This sounds like the story of some official who couldn't pay the extortionist's price. I'd be working with a team this time- Nigel Uno, a real hard nose if I ever did see one. Kuki Sanban, while not the brightest, had helped me out of a pickle and has even solved a case or two. Wallabee Beatles was the muscle for this case, and Abby Lincoln? I'd work on a case with her any day, if you know what I mean."

"Abby Lincoln can hear everything you're saying, you fool," Numbuh 5 said, exasperatedly hitting Hoagie with her cap. "Boy, you need to learn to keep your internal monologues _internal_."

Hoagie let out one of his nervous, bleating laughs. "I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

Nigel didn't like what he saw once they arrived at the scene of the crime. Safety patrol officers swarmed the area, and yellow tape sectioned off where the crime had actually occurred. From his few run-ins with the safety patrol, he knew they were deeply territorial when it came to jurisdiction over various offenses. Assault of a student council official was probably one such offense.

Hoagie, however, seemed to have everything under control. Despite his stupid hat and tie, he was still respected among the safety patrol as one of their own, even though he had left them halfway through the first grade to attend cadet training at the Arctic Base. The black-clad officers parted to let Hoagie through to the scene, where Muffy Jenkins sat, bleeding slightly from a cut over her eyebrow and sporting some nasty bruises.

"Hey, toots-," Hoagie started, before Muffy promptly slapped him. "I deserved that." Numbuh 5 let out a snort.

"Look, Muffy, is it?" Nigel said, taking off his sunglasses and kneeling on the ground beside the girl. "We need to ask you some questions."

"I already know who did this, you know," she said haughtily. "And the motive."

"Oh?" Nigel was skeptical. He only knew Muffy in passing from his various encounters with student government, and that Muffy was far more likely to pretend to know more than she did. "Can you tell us?"

"It was the splinter cell in your precious KND," she sneered, "and they did because I knew too much." Muffy's face fell into a look of shock and terror after she said this, as if she realized that she had displeased her attackers. For a brief second it looked as if she was going to tell them more.

Screams broke through the air before she could, though, and mustard smoke bombs detonated at various points around the perimeter. Nigel drew a M.U.S.K.E.T. and readied it, though he knew the futility of firing blindly into the condiment fog. Others, however, did not seem to realize this, and he heard the splashes of water balloons and the clatter of gumball shells falling to the pavement. It was sheer chaos until the smoke completely cleared, and it took everyone a while to realize that an important part of the picture was missing.

Muffy Jenkins disappeared without a trace on a cold winter's night. There were no foot prints and no obvious exit strategy for her abductors, nor any sign of a getaway vehicle or a trapdoor. Unlike a similar kidnapping, months after the first in a string of disappearances at a solitary outpost in the Arctic, there was a note.

"Beware, Kids Next Door," it said. "The splinter cell does not take kindly to those who stand in its way."

* * *

_Various children began to disappear after that. They were found later, of course, but never having any memory of what had passed between their abduction and subsequent return to their loved ones. Acts of terrorism that a notorious "splinter cell" claimed credit for it began to occur in the major metropolitan centers of the world. The splinter cell was soon proved to be radical members of the KND. The United Student Councils further isolated themselves from their one-time ally, and various governments began to debate whether or not giving the KND diplomatic immunity was a prudent decision in the first place. _

_These events all took place between the abduction of Muffy Jenkins (who was later found wandering the streets of Chicago believing she was in her own home) and the return of Patton Drilovsky- which is where I believe we left off in our previous instalment. _

"I'm telling you for the last time- I'm not a spy!" Patton barked, eyeing his interrogator with contempt. "Seriously, Fanny. You know I love my mom! And my grandfather! Joining the splinter cell would mean…" Patton was unable to finish that thought. Yes, go ahead and laugh. Numbuh 60, all-around tough guy, was a mamma's boy.

"That's Numbuh 86 to you, _boy_," Fanny- no, Numbuh 86- sneered, slamming her hands down on to the table. Patton's hands were handcuffed down to the surface of a plain metal table. A single light hung over the pair, but other than that the room was empty.

"Okay, _Numbuh 86_," Patton snapped. "Give me one good reason why you think I'm in the splinter cell."

"You up and leave for two weeks and come back claimin' to have seen the splinter cell! Either you're stark raving mad or you're with them!" Numbuh 86 was livid with fury and held her face a good two inches from Patton's now; he could count every freckle and noticed that her jaw did this funny clench-unclench twitch whenever she wasn't speaking. Patton knew enough from his time with the Global Tactical Officer in the Cadets Next Door that she was much more furious than one of her normal tirades.

"Look Fanny. I told you. They jumped me at the Arctic Base. They gave chase, I got in a shuttle. Shuttle crashed, and next thing you know I spend two weeks running through the Canadian wilderness!" Patton knew that it was time to draw out the big guns. "You could at least thank me, you know. I saw one of their faces."

Fanny, who had turned her back on him when he began to repeat his story for what felt like the buhmillionth time, suddenly whipped around, hair flying in all directions as she once again made a beeline for the table. "What did yeh say?"

"I saw one of their faces. Splinter cell agent, I mean," he said, almost bashfully, because Fanny looked so eager and hopeful that it was strange. Fanny's face was usually contorted into an expression of unbridled rage.

"And who was it?" she demanded. Patton smirked a little. The rage and anger was back, but there was still that (girlish) bit of hope.

"Numbuh 363. Harvey, or whatever the little puke's name is."

* * *

**AN: So, that's that, I suppose. Maybe I could have tried harder, or maybe I could have not randomly come up with the ending. Huh. **

**Well, catch ya on the flip-flop, cool cats. I'm off to the beach.**


	3. In Which There is Much Frustration

**AN: So here's Chapter 3, I guess. Sorry about the delay- my sister and I came down with pneumonia within days of each other, so it's been pretty crazy on the home front. Major credit goes again to CodeLyokoIsTheBest for beta-ing and other such awesomeness (p.s.: go check out her stories. They, too, are awesome). Well, that's all I have to say. **

* * *

Rachel stood on the observation platform, and watched the interrogation taking place below her. Patton, she knew, was one of the top operatives. There was no doubt to his loyalty, and she trusted him enough to believe that he wasn't a member of the Splinter Cell. When he named Harvey as his attacker, though, she was immediately overtaken by a feeling of dread and fury. Harvey might have been a pain sometimes, but he was her little brother. Cadets learn a few lessons at Arctic Base, but the lesson regarding Rachel was often ignored.

That lesson being if you messed with the people she cared about, she would destroy you, just say the word.

The Numbuh 44 twins, who had been guarding the observation deck at the time, had to physically restrain Rachel from going down into the interrogation room and getting a few good punches in with Patton.

"Hurts, doesn't it?"

Rachel whipped her head around. Sitting in one of the old armchairs on the deck was a figure, back to her. Their hands were obviously threaded together to form a gesture of calculating contemplation. The voice had said the words idly, but there was an icy infliction to them.

"Hello, Numbuh Infinity," Rachel said flatly, her will to fight taken out of her with those three words. Rachel wasn't the confrontational sort; espionage was her game when she was a field operative and that involves avoiding conflicts. She had become used to Infinity's odd comings and goings, though the two 44s had become slack-jawed with amazement as to how Numbuh Infinity was able to enter a locked room with only one door.

"Do you want me to go get our little renegade?" he asked, turning the chair around to face Rachel. His trademark suit was devoid of any wrinkles or stains, and his bowtie was dead center. "Your brother is only famous for his fighting skills, not his subtlety. I could easily-,"

"I'm sorry, Infinity," said Rachel, shaking off the twins who had been restraining her up until a minute ago, "But that's Fanny's job, and she's been itching for some action."

"You're not going yourself?" Infinity raised an eyebrow, though his eyes (hidden behind sunglasses just like Nigel's, she noted, but probably not as nice) didn't seem to change their position.

"I've got to worry about Harvey. I don't want to…"

"You always were a sentimental girl," Infinity said, standing up and heading towards the door. "It's a good quality, really. But not in times like these, sir. Oh, no. Sentimentality always interferes with what needs to be done." Infinity offered up a small smile, as close as he could muster, at least. "I'll be taking my leave of you, then."

Infinity left the room, and closed the door with a sense of finality that couldn't have been mustered even if he had been screaming louder than Numbuh 86.

"Man," said Numbuh 44. "That is one creepy kid."

* * *

Numbuh 86 loved suiting up for a chase. First her sweater, with its patches showing her rank (higher than any stupid boy could get, in her opinion). The sweater was part of her normal outfit, but it was more special whenever it was donned in preparation for one of her duties. Then orange cargo pants, because although she loved her skirt, it wasn't practical to wear for chasing operatives who were bound to run from her. Numbuh 1 during the decommissioning incident was one such example (though when she explained her reasoning to her team the first time she wore the pants, they had all laughed and said she should wear them on a date, since most guys would run from her). A dual-gun holster bought from a gun shop but adjusted to fit her M.U.S.K.E.T.s was thrown on over the sweater. Finally, her treasured combat boots and colander helmet to top it all off.

Times had been getting hard since the emergence of the Splinter Cell, so for that particular mission Fanny threw on a battered overcoat to hide her M.U.S.K.E.T. holsters. No one wanted to see a kid sporting dual condiment guns. She took the stairs two at a time as she came down from her room, throwing a quick "Bye, mam!" to her mother in the kitchen.

Global Command had sent word that she was to apprehend Numbuh 363, nee one Harvey Mackenzie, for the betrayal of Global Command and insubordination. It was a normal grab-and-go sort of thing that Fanny had done all the time

There was one aspect about her latest mission that troubled her. Harvey meant a lot to the few people that Numbuh 86 could afford to get attached to. He was Rachel's brother, and Rachel was one of the few people who could stand 86's company in a social setting for more than sixty seconds. Harvey was also one of Paddy's best friends, and even though Numbuh 86 would never ever say it out loud, she loved her little brother just as much, if not more than, Rachel did Harvey. Fanny knew that it would hurt both of them if she arrested Harvey, even if her orders had come from Global Command.

A job was a job, though, and she didn't want any operative to think for even a fraction of a second that the infallible Numbuh 86 had gone soft. The only respect she got in the KND was for being the toughest one out there, with the possible exception of Numbuh 60. The love for this recognition and respect was what brought her to be waiting outside of her house for the transport to take her to Harvey's house. Since the Mackenzie siblings lived on the West Coast, and Fanny on the East, she figured that she could easily take the transport and make it to her friend's house in time to ambush Harvey without Rachel actually having to witness the event.

Fanny sat outside at a bus shelter attempting to be inconspicuous while waiting for her transport. Stigma against the KND had risen recently, especially after the recent vandalism of the United States Capital. As a result, 2x4 technology officers had recently been making upgrades to transport vehicles to make them blend in with surrounding vehicles. For this mission in particular it was important to blend in- Fanny lived in Virginia, which was home to the majority of anti-KND sentiment. Cops felt well within their rights to stop and frisk a KND transport and its operatives; kids still winced at the mention of a disastrous incident involving a cop in Arizona attempting to arrest some Mexican operatives for both illegal border crossing and just being a member of the Kids Next Door. The Mexican operatives were living on Moonbase until the issue could be pushed through the courts.

A bus soon pulled up to the curb. Fanny checked her watch, and stepped on. It was a regular city bus, though it was completely devoid of passengers. The bus driver, a middle-aged man in a tee-shirt and khaki shorts, merely grunted as she got on and deposited the one dollar in quarters it took to ride the bus.

She took a seat at the very back of the bus, and passed the time by looking out of the window. Eventually, the bus driver peered into his mirror.

"Where you goin', missy? Nowhere far?" The bus driver said, slight Southern accent drawling out the words.

"I'm going to get some Yipper cards," she responded blithely, and it was like she had hit a switch. The bus's exhaust pipes transformed into jet propulsion units, and the overall shape of the bus became more streamlined and aerodynamic. The interior began to meld away to become more patchwork-like, with tractor tires containing computer screens and old televisions with weapons systems appearing from the floor and the walls. The bus driver himself seemed to fold into the seat, breaking apart into multiple intricate parts to reveal a much smaller person inside.

"Numbuh 86, sir," said Numbuh 99, offering up a smile. He was obviously pleased about being freed from his disguise. "What do you think of the new transports? They're calling them B.U.S.S.s, I think."

"They're fine and dandy, Numbuh 99," she grumbled. "Set a course for Vancouver, already. I hate how far outta our way we have to go now to throw off suspicion."

Numbuh 99 began to punch in the coordinates and prepare the craft for takeoff from the long stretch of highway. Engines began to whirr, and Numbuh 99 began to recite basic operating procedure under his breath to ensure he didn't mess up.

"By the way," said Numbuh 86, "when am I gonna get my dollar back?"

Numbuh 99 had no answer to that.

* * *

Rachel made sure that she was as far away from home as she could get that day. It wasn't particularly hard, either; Sector R was complaining about how the Kremlin was sending them notices about how they were soon to be breaking the Russian law regarding the prosecution of those about to commit a crime and needed official papers signed by the president (it was at this point that the sector leader had inserted "blah-blah-blah" for whatever else was needed, which made Rachel want to scream. She stood for all things child-like, but she seriously hated short attention spans), Sector F was complaining about being harassed by police officers, and communication with all Central Asian sectors had been spotty that day.

"Supreme Leader, sir!" Numbuh 65.3 ran up to her on the bridge, panting from the effort. Rachel turned to face the communications officer.

"Yes, Herbie?" Rachel felt bad about sounding so snappish, but Numbuh 65.3 had come to her with no less than thirty "crises" that day that ranged from helping him tie his shoes to the cafeteria running out of ketchup. All of which were things she personally didn't care much about.

"Sector P-East is on the line calling to see if you can put them up at Moonbase. Apparently the government in Islamabad is no longer so forgiving of the mustard bombs that went off around the capital the other day," Herbie replied with equal irritation. This gave Rachel pause. Pakistan traditionally had a good relationship with the KND. All major countries had a KND base, and establishing one in Pakistan at the end of WWII had somewhat legitimized the fledgling nation.

"We're out of room, Herbie. All standard bunks are occupied, my office has about six kids camping out in it, and no other officers will budge and let kids in their quarters," Rachel sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Just move them to Sector I until this mess can be straightened out."

"Try telling them that!" Herbie grumbled. "You're only risking a fight."

"It's a direct order, Numbuh 65.3. They have to obey."

"Oh, and Numbuh 362, sir?" a look of devious glee passed over Herbie's face. "Numbuh 1 is on line six."

Rachel thought she was a master of being an emotionless slate while interacting with operatives while she was on the job. Obviously she wasn't, because the minute she heard Nigel was on the line she began to panic in a way that a girl does whenever she happens to hear that some particular guy was headed her way.

Of course, kids had to throw in petty comments as she made her way to receive the call. Lots of rhymes about k-i-s-s-i-n-g could be heard, as well as coos that their song must be "Baby Got Back". Rachel made an internal list of operatives who cat-called and wolf-whistled for lecturing later; she knew (unlike the majority of the population, it seemed) that Nigel only called for important reasons.

So on went her helmet and stern face to impose upon Nigel the full power of her position. Rachel scrolled past the other calls in the cue to find the incoming call from Sector V. The screen sprang to life, showing a somewhat sheepish looking Numbuh 1.

"What is it, Numbuh 1?" Rachel demanded, wearing an expression of cross exasperation. "I've skipped past a lot of other calls to hear this."

Nigel's look became more sheepish at this and he let out a hollow chuckle. "Well, about that… I just wanted to report about our goodwill meeting with the local police department."

"Good news, I hope?" Global Command had recently been encouraging sectors to schedule meetings with local law enforcement to build up a sense of camaraderie and common purpose.

"Actually, it was a complete failure," Nigel said flatly. "Numbuh 4 actually threatened a couple of officers, and Numbuh 2 has been barred from entering City Hall indefinitely."

"What did he do? Anything that needs repair or damage control?" Rachel sincerely did not like the turn this conversation was taking.

"Hotwired a couple of police cars to make a 'siren symphony'. Although it wasn't entirely our fault," Nigel added, noticing that Rachel's frown was growing deeper and deeper, "most of the officers were quite condescending. I told the chief as much, so I doubt we'll ever get an invitation to return."

"That was completely irresponsible, Nigel! Do you have any idea how many people want to see the Kids Next Door put out of commission? Now your sector has just put about ten more powerful adults on our tail. No wonder people are screaming for my resignation! Do you want to come up here and do my job? Because I say be my guest!"

Rachel was left panting after that particular rant. Various kids had been employing every method from talking behind her back to subtle hints to outright confrontation demanding she resign as Supreme Leader, especially when the most recent wave of Splinter Cell activity hit. Now, Rachel had an almost infinite supply of patience. Emphasis on the almost, though, since news of Numbuh 1 and his sector's public relations fiasco pretty much put her past her limit.

Nigel was not incredibly patient, though he tended to make an exception with Rachel. Onscreen, he merely peered over his glasses and gave his boss a look that was half pitying and half irate. "Someone needs a cookie break, I think," he said dryly. "I have some mission reports I need to file at Moonbase anyways. Be up in about an hour?"

An embarrassed smile worked its way across the Supreme Leader's face. "I should be expecting you with milk and cookies in an hour no matter what I say, huh?"

Nigel didn't reply, but prematurely terminated the conversation; Numbuh 362 used the time between the end of that particular call and the beginning of what was to be a long and frustrating call with scientists defending the use of new coin-operated transports to let out an aggravated yell.

This was not appreciated by Sector M, who had been taking a siesta by her filing cabinets.

* * *

So they were going for the understated ambush. Numbuh 86 figured that was a good thing, considering the disasters that had resulted from full-out D.O.H.-D.O.H. assaults while pursuing a fugitive. The Mackenzie residence was a basic apartment over some "gastro pub" (adults and their benign ways never failed to make Numbuh 86 think that they were winning the stupid race); four windows facing the street complete with fire escape and an entrance just next to the door to the restaurant.

The building was a standard, three-storey brick building that one could find in any metropolis; the bricks were streaked with damage from acid rain and the paint covering the window frames was chipping in some places. A fire escape snaked its way up the building on the left side, while the right had a patio that was obviously used as an eating area for the restaurant.

It was dreary in Vancouver on that particular day, however, so no one was eating on the patio. A light rain came down on the assembled operatives, and the gutters were full of puddles of water that contained an assortment of substances that make city runoff especially gag-worthy.

Fanny noted that the other operatives in the group were examining the menu of the restaurant and commenting on how they could go for some of the nachos using "local ingredients" after all was said and done, so Numbuh 86 decided to show them how things were said and done while she was in charge.

"Listen up, yeh idiots!" she hissed, smacking one unfortunate operative upside the head. "There aren't going to be any nachos until we get the stupid traitor and get him out of here! Clear?"

Some hasty nodding on the part of the three-operative team did little to ease Fanny's mind. "Fire escape should make a good retreat point if we need it; stick together and stay alert. Little creep is supposed to be smart."

With that, Fanny marched up to the door and rang the buzzer. It took a minute before anyone answered the door, but eventually a frazzled-looking blonde woman opened the door. "Can I help you kids? Seriously, though, I'm not buying any more candy to save the orca whale. My daughter was bouncing off the walls from the sugar in the candy that we got last week." The woman, obviously Rachel's mother, looked puzzled as the three kids standing behind Numbuh 86 burst out laughing at the mental image they got of the normally serious Supreme Leader losing her composure.

"Actually, Mrs. Mackenzie, we're friends of Rachel's," Fanny said sheepishly, but shot a pointed look at her compatriots to get them to shut up. "Could we see her?"

"Sorry, kids," the woman said, "Rachel's at school right now and won't be home for a bit. You could come up and wait, if you'd like."

Bingo. Mrs. Mackenzie had played right into Numbuh 86's hands with that seemingly innocent invitation. "That'd be great, Mrs. Mackenzie," she said, grinning a grin that hinted at something predatory.

"So," Mrs. Mackenzie said as she led the kids up the stairs, "How exactly do you kids know Rachel? Are you a part of that 'Next Door' nonsense that she always talks about?"

"No!" Fanny screeched before anyone else could answer. Mrs. Mackenzie could accidentally let it slip that the Kids Next Door was particularly interested in that neighborhood and unintentionally blow the cover of both her kids. "We're part of the, um, the Spanish club! That's it." All of the other kids began to nod in assent and one boy had the gall to chip in a "donde esta el bano?" Rachel's mom was not as convinced.

"I always thought the schools had kids take French. Funny," she said thoughtfully as they entered the kitchen. "Harvey! Some of Rachel's friends from the Spanish club are here. Just stay put, okay? I'm off to the store."

Numbuh 86 felt dread race through her faster than a speeding glob of mustard. Harvey being there was definitely not part of the plan.

"Sorry about Harvey, kids," Mrs. Mackenzie said sympathetically, "He insisted that he was sick and had to stay home today. I couldn't find a fever, though, so I doubt he's contagious."

Fanny glared at Harvey through narrowed eyes. He was lying on a plaid couch under an afghan, but she could see his fingers toying with some M.A.R.B.L.E.S. and saw a lump that was distinctly shaped like a S.C.A.M.P.P. The mission had gone from a day at the playground to a complete disaster in less than five seconds. Numbuh 86 vaguely suspected that Harvey had raided his sector's arsenal, since weapons like M.A.R.B.L.E.S. were not authorized to take home, since they looked to similar to regular marbles and had an unstable combination of gunpowder and mustard seed.

Like many adults who weren't involved with the KND, Mrs. Mackenzie was completely oblivious to what was about to happen. All operatives present, however, knew that things were about to get uglier than the lunch lady that had that terrible wart. Ugh, what a disgusting thing.

The second the door clicked behind the adult, Numbuh 86 whipped out her mustard guns and took aim at the allegedly sick child. Harvey was too quick for the other operatives in her posse; a hanging light fixture was shot in just the right place so that it collapsed upon two of the operatives and left a third nervously attempting to help her fallen comrades. Fanny let loose an irritated growl and shot at her quarry, but he managed a vaulted leap behind the sofa with speed ill-fitting of an invalid.

Normally, Numbuh 86 would not have followed her target so willingly. This was unfamiliar territory to her, as any interaction with Rachel as friends had occurred on various bases or at Fanny's house. She should have known that it wasn't safe to pursue a target into an environment in which they were certain to have laid traps and created pit falls. However, Numbuh 86 was quick to remember what the little puke had done to Patton and to the Kids Next Door.

She raced in to what appeared to be a bedroom in time to see Numbuh 363 sliding out of a window and on to a ledge. "Perfect," she had thought, since the fire escape was right outside. Even if it afforded Harvey a better escape, it gave her a better means through which to pursue him.

Fanny had raced out on to the fire escape without a second thought. Harvey Mackenzie, safely camped on a stone ledge outside the window, shot out the last bolt that held fire escape on the next floor up to the building the instant Fanny put both feet on the grating. That part of the escape came crashing down on to the one Numbuh 86 was standing on. The combined weight was too much for the lower part of the fire escape and it too began to plummet towards the street below. At the last minute, Numbuh 86's training kicked in and she made one desperate leap.

Although she avoided killing herself, there was one minor casualty. Crushed by the combined weight of the metal and by the impact of the fall were various parts of her left leg.

Things really started going downhill from there.

* * *

**Tah-dah! Well, on to the next one, I guess... and the one after that ad infinitum until it's done. Yeesh, what have I gotten in to?**

**At the very least I've found a prompt challenge that helps me decompress and flex my rhetorical muscle. Haw-haw.**

**Well, reviews are lovely as always, I suppose. **


	4. In Which There are Complications

Rachel grabbed another cookie off the plate on her desk and dunked it into a cocoa mug filled with milk. She gave a grin across her desk to Nigel, who also had a mug and cookie in hand, and to the three Mexican operatives who had shown them the beauty of spiced milk and had joined in the impromteau cookie break. Times like these let Rachel remember that she was still a kid and entitled to cookie breaks. There'd been no talk of the splinter cell, of the impending court date for Sector M, or of Harvey's betrayal for the entire half hour Nigel had been there. The only Kids Next Door related topic that had been discussed was the upcoming leader's retreat in Jamaica.

"I don' get why everyone thinks we run around with monkey sidekicks," said Numbuh 56, one of the Mexican operatives. She pounded her mug on to the desk-turned table for emphasis. "I mean, c'mon! Everybody thinks that my name es Dora!"

The other operatives at the table gave a chuckle; Numbuh 56 dressed like a commando mercenary and wore gloves with reinforced knuckles. There was no way that anyone would ask if that girl wanted to go explorin'.

"They all think that we're part of the landscaping crew, too!" chimed in Numbuh 31, one of the other interlopers.

"Puh-lease!" Nigel said, setting down his mug and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I've had kids ask me if I was just the butler, or if I was off for my cup of tea. I don't even like tea!"

"Maybe we could start an anti-stereotyping program at Arctic Base," said Rachel thoughtfully, though she was still amused by how some operatives still thought Numbuh 1 was thoroughly British.

"That'd be good for you, too. If I recall correctly, Chad asked you on your first day at Global Command if you wanted to eat Canadian bacon and watch hockey," Nigel peered over his glasses at Rachel as the other operatives burst out laughing. "You had a terrible Great Lakes accent, too. Public Relations had to coach it out of you."

"My mom was so confused the first day back. She thought I had fallen in with the 'wrong crowd' or something." Rachel laughed

Everything was perfect at that one moment: they were just a bunch of kids laughing about parents, instead of two high-strung leaders and three kids facing criminal prosecution.

Of course, the Kids Next Door was in a Code: Stranger Danger, so of course this couldn't last much longer. Patton burst in to the office and slammed the door behind him, fast.

"Numbuh 362, sir!" he barked, though Rachel noted that he sounded more panicked than usual. "It's an emerg- ooh, cookies! I mean, it's an emergency! Computer, get me a feed from a news station in Vancouver, Canada!"

"Which one, Numbuh 60? There are at least four news stations in that area," the computer intoned mechanically.

"The one running the hospital story. Now!" The other operatives in the room looked at each other warily. Had Numbuh 60 finally lost it, or was something bad going down?

"-the girl was listed in stable condition, although-," a news reporter stood in front of a three storey brick building that had a collapsed fire escape. Rachel's eyes widened in shock. That was _her_ house.

Patton, however, seemed to have composed himself. "Computer, rewind!"

The images flashed in reverse across the screen before stopping at what appeared to be the beginning of the report. The same woman stood in front of the same building, but wore a look of mock gravity.

"Shortly after three o'clock today, a fire escape collapsed in the eastern district of Vancouver. A young girl was injured in the collapse, though doctors are still uncertain as to how she was involved. Her leg was severely injured and she was taken to St. Paul's Hospital. What really makes this case unique, however, is what how the girl reacted to the EMT's who pulled her from the wreckage."

The screen cut to a grainy clip of a red-headed girl thrashing about as doctors pulled her from the twisted steel wreckage. Rachel's heart sank, because it was so obviously Fanny that it wasn't funny. The girl on the tape was kicking and scratching at every EMT that tried to lay his hands on her. She even twisted her head around and bit someone, and even though the video quality wasn't good, you could distinctly hear someone say, "Eh, Frank- you're bleeding!" over Fanny's screeches.

"The girl was listed in stable condition, although doctors are doubtful about whether she will be released into the custody of her parents any time soon."

A doctor appeared on screen. "Authorities believe that she was somehow involved in the collapse, so she'll probably be charged with reckless endangerment in the juvenile courts."

Patton shut the screen off and turned to face Rachel. She'd known that Patton had had a soft spot for Fanny since their days in the academy, but the look of absolute terror allowed her to predict what he was going to say before he said it. "We need to go rescue her."

It was Nigel who spook next, after a dramatic silence overtook the room. "Numbuh 60, are you sure that's a good idea? You heard what they said; she's in the hospital. It's serious, and I doubt our doctors are equipped to deal with whatever injuries she sustained."

Numbuh 31 piped in, "Yeah, and that girl is loco anyway. Crazy mean!"

No one laughed, and Numbuh 31 withered under Patton's glare.

"Fanny herself had a nursing degree from the Kids Next Door Super Fun Medical School, and she was one of the best field nurses I've ever seen! Our doctors are just fine!"

"Numbuh 1 is right, Patton," Rachel said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We shouldn't-," but she never got to finish. Numbuh 60 wrenched her hand off her shoulder and turned to glare at his friend.

"Numbuh 1 is always right!" he snapped. "That… that lame-o," Nigel had the gall to look offended, "Can barely function outside of a Kids Next Door scenario! I have no idea why you get your advice from _him_! He's as dangerous as anyone else is right now! Dammit, Rachel, this isn't a game!"

Everyone in the room had gasped as Patton used a dreaded, adult word. It was a sign of growing up and growing old and nobody in the room wanted that.

"Everybody out," Rachel snapped. "Now, and that's a direct order. You, too, Numbuh 1." The boy had looked like he was going to stay, but Rachel had something to say to Numbuh 60 alone. "I want a word with Numbuh 60."

The office was cleared in a few seconds; the only sign that a jovial party once being there was the abandoned milk and cookies. Patton collapsed into a chair as soon as the others had left and buried his head in his hands.

"Where'd you learn that word, Numbuh 60?" Rachel asked, leaning up against her desk and pinching the bridge of her nose. Patton looked up at her, thoroughly shame-faced.

"My dad's an officer in the Army. We live on a base, and the soldiers talk like that all the time," Patton explained. "I've never used it before, pinky swear."

"I believe you, Patton," and Rachel felt that she'd never sounded so tired before. "Is it almost time for… you know."

"I'll be twelve next month. I've still got some time."

"About Fanny…" those were some awkward words to say for the Supreme Leader. "You wanna talk about it?"

Patton raised his head from his hands and gave her a funny little half-smile. "Remember our final exam? Three of us had to complete a basic recon mission in Croatia. Then you sprained your ankle and it was just me and Fanny. That long, Rachel."

"Ah." Rachel had trouble wrapping her mind around one of her closest friends being more emotional than usual, and semi-confessing to having a crush on one of her other closest friends. "You could go visit her, I suppose. She'd be getting listless by now."

"Any visit would involve an escape attempt, you know," Patton said, getting up from the chair and making to leave the office.

"I know," Rachel said, and gave an exaggerated wink.

* * *

Chad loved having his own ride. His pride and joy, his fricking _child_, was his '93 Sonoma, make no mistake. And it was certainly better for dates than one of those sooped-up bikes that most Teen Ninjas rode around in. Not to mention the fact that his truck was actually street legal. The one downside to having a truck, however, was that his parents now expected him to do errands and such. So that's why on that particular day the former leader of the Kids Next Door was to be found in Aisle 11 of the local supermarket.

He was pushing the cart down the aisle absentmindedly, thinking about his agenda for the next few days, when his cart suddenly slammed into another, pushed by a kid who was just tall enough to push the cart without standing on tip-toe.

"Watch it, kid!" Chad had snarled, turning his attention away from the shelves and towards the offending shopping cart. What he saw made him pale in surprise. "Rachel?"

"Hey, Chad," she said flatly. The girl fiddled with the strings of her sweatshirt. "Long time no see."

Chad glared at her. Yeah, there was still some resentment towards her for succeeding him. "You look old, Rach. Your time almost up?"

"I've got plenty of time left, thanks for asking," she replied blithely. "Unlike you, though Fanny couldn't make it here today."

"Wait, so this was all an elaborate set up to apprehend me at a grocery store?" Chad was confused. Rachel and her staff weren't that brilliant… were they?

"What? Fudge no! This was just a run to get some Rainbow Munchies and microwave burritos!" And, oh look! Rachel's cart was indeed filled with enough cereal and frozen Mexican food to feed a small army. It wasn't that improbable. "The operatives living in my office are getting fed up with peanut butter and jelly."

"Listen- because we were friends back in the day and all," Chad started. Rachel gave him a sour look. "Associates? Partners? What the hell do you want me to say?"

Another pointed look.

"You learned that from Nigel, didn't you? Little shit." Chad mumbled the last part under his breath. "Look, since we used to be cool with each other- okay, hot girl at five o'clock. Just keep giving me that look until she's gone."

The girl walked by and threw Chad a flirtatious smile. "Sisters," he said, gesturing to Rachel and rolling his eyes.

"I know, right?" the girl smiled again and continued on her way.

"Okay that was a totally close call- stop looking at me like that for Christ's sake! It's creepy enough when Numbuh 1 does it!" Because Rachel was once again giving Chad a pointed look as they made their way down the aisle and towards the check-out together. "Look, can we continue this conversation somewhere else? Yes, it's important. We can finish up my errands."

Rachel looked up at Chad (he noticed she was a good head shorter than him now; he wanted to get back at her for all of those short jokes she had cracked when they had been 274 and 362, leaders extraordinaire) and raised an eyebrow. It struck Chad at that moment that Rachel had always been a bit of a tag-team leader; she needed someone to back her up and give her advice or she needed to be the one doing that. With him gone, Numbuh 1 had obviously become a bigger influence.

"Fine."

Chad paid for her groceries. He figured it was the least he could do for dumping her with what he belatedly dubbed the job from hell. They made their way out to his truck, which happened to be parked next to Rachel's personal R.O.A.D.S.T.A.R. The Supreme Leader's vehicle was made out of packing crates and sheet metal, painted orange and blue.

"You carried that color scheme on to the R.O.A.D.S.T.A.R.? Jeez, Rachel. What was wrong with my color scheme?"

Rachel took in the teenagers disapproving tone at the mention of the vehicle that had once been his. "Red and brown had been done before, I guess." The girl grabbed two sacks out of her trunk and threw them in the bed of the truck.

"Nice truck," Rachel said idly, admiring the simple black exterior. She slid in to the passenger seat as Chad got in on the driver's side. "Though the interior is… interesting." The teen used his truck as the one way to rebel against his neat-freak parents; the interior was a mess, with dirty laundry, papers, and food wrappers littering the seats and the floor.

"At least my ride is street legal," Chad snapped, taking offense at her condescending tone. "I have a license that wasn't made out in crayon, too."

"Fanny's nursing degree was made out in crayon, as I was reminded earlier today, but you still let her patch you up at the end of the day." Numbuh 362 looked out of the window as the town passed by. "Do you think we could stop at a Laundromat? Our clean clothes officer was decommissioned last week and I haven't been home for a week."

"Rachel, I'm not here to chauffeur you to do errands. I have to warn you about the Teens," Chad snarled. "But yeah, we'll go to my house for the laundry. But, like, the Teens want to form an alliance with the Kids Next Door. The splinter cell has everyone freaked and they're worried that they're next."

"Why are you telling me this, exactly?" Rachel sounded skeptical. "I would have figured this out on my own."

"I'm warning you in the interest of you keeping your job," Chad snapped, "I still think you Kids Next Dork would be better off if I was still leader, but you're the second best thing they can get. Make that alliance and you're risking both of our time as Supreme Leader."

"I've got no definite successor, Chad. They're not going to play another game of TAG for a long time. I still have time to fix my mistakes."

"Numbuh 1-," Chad started.

"-has explicitly told me that he has no intention of ever becoming Supreme Leader. You're overanalyzing the kid, I think."

"He surprises me every time."

When they finally got to his house, he turned to her and motioned that she should stay quiet. They slipped in through the back door and into what looked like a combination of a mudroom and a laundry room. A washer-dryer unit stood in a corner by the door. Chad hastily emptied the bags into the machine and turned it on.

"How're things with your parents?" she asked. Drat. Rachel obviously remembered the familial troubles that Chad had.

"Worse than ever. They keep asking me when I'm going to get a girlfriend, when I'm going to-," Chad was cut off when the door connecting the room to the kitchen was thrown open by a severe looking woman in her late forties.

"Chad! So this is the girl you bring home!" the woman, obviously Mega Mom, looked Rachel up and down. "Kind of young for you, don't you think?"

"Mo-om! She's an old friend that I owe some favors to, okay?" Chad was completely embarrassed, as was Rachel. It was one of those for-the-love-of-God-shut-up-mom moments. "She just needed to do some laundry."

"Thanks for letting me use your washing machine Mrs. Dixon," Rachel said awkwardly. "Oh, look the wash is done. I can just dry these in my office so I'lljustbegoingbye."

"Oh, nonsense dear! If you're going to be dating my little angel you need to see his baby pictures!"

"We're not dating," both said at the same time.

But it was too late. The scrapbooks had already been brought out.

* * *

Patton had never been to an actual hospital before. Field hospitals and med bays in the KND were usually improvised, so the stark white of St. Paul's was a little more than he was used to.

Make that a lot more than he was used to, because the map hanging by the elevator made _no sense_.

"Do you need help?" a nurse approached Patton as he stood staring at the map. "Are you lost?"

"What? No, lady. I just need to find my friend and get out of here."

The nurse did not seem notice the abrasiveness of the statement. "Well, who's your friend?"

"The girl from the news. You know, with… the biting and the screaming," Patton finished that statement lamely, because there is no easy way to say your friend is probably a homicidal maniac.

"Oh. Well, sweetie…" the nurse trailed off, "She's kind of… sedated. They had to after she threatened to kill a doctor with an icepick."

"Then we're obviously thinking of the same person. Where is she?"

And the nurse must have been a complete idiot, because she led Patton down the bleached halls into a little room that smells like blood and sweat and feels like _angry_ and _ashamed_. Then the nurse is gone and it's just Fanny and Patton like back in Croatia.

"He-ey man," Fanny drawled out, not even looking at her visitor. "Like, when are they bringing the morphine back because, dude. That's some pretty whack stuff."

"Look if things go my way (and, probably, your un-drugged self's way), they're not coming back. We're busting you out of here, Fan." Patton began unhooking IV needles and monitors, pulling back blankets and-

"Oh my god." Because her left leg? It's not looking good. No blood anymore, at least, but it's twisted at an angle that is unnatural. And that leaves Patton stuck, because how the crap is he supposed to get a drugged, crippled Numbuh 86 out of a hospital without being noticed?

The original plan did not take into account that she would be drugged and crippled, that's for sure.

**AN: Holy crap it's done. Chapter 4, I mean, not the story. Blarg, my brain is fried right now. And sweet baby Jesus I've got to finish this.**

**See you all in like three months or whatever because that's how long this will probably take. **


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